


Spotlights Don't Do You Justice

by geckoholic



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: stop-drop-howl, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-01
Updated: 2012-09-01
Packaged: 2017-11-13 08:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/501462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geckoholic/pseuds/geckoholic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>Lydia’s gorgeous when she’s angry.</em> - Jackson/Lydia, set in early S2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spotlights Don't Do You Justice

**Author's Note:**

> Morganoconner tagged me with the way you move. I wrote this last night between 2 am and 4 am because I gotta leave in a bit and won't be home until well after the end of my 24 hours, so sorry that this isn't as porny as it could be.
> 
> Dazedrose gave this a quick read-through for G+S mistakes, and many thanks to evitably and maybemalapert for the brainstorming and nudging while I wrote this! ♥ 
> 
> Title is from "Milow" by Ayo Technology.

He’s not sure coming here was a good idea. It’s not like he’s heartbroken over it -- hah, as if -- but he’s not very much in the mood for chasing tail either. Got other things on his mind, the disaster over the bite.... Yeah. He’s still smarting over that one, so what? Been kinda important. 

But hey, Danny insisted. And he can be pretty damn stubborn if he wants something, even if it’s something seemingly altruistic like getting his best friend laid. Or, well. He didn’t use the words _getting laid_ , exactly, he said Jackson needed to be among people, have some fun, but really, that’s what it amounts to. 

Only, now Danny’s off god-knows-where -- he met some people and they dragged him away before Jackson could so much as call after him -- and Jackson’s on his own. Which he doesn’t have particularly much of a problem with, per se. He’s not the kind of guy who sits in a corner and mopes. 

So, yeah. He’s gonna have fun. That’s why he’s here. 

First point on the list: get drunk. It’s dark in here even at the bar, and he figures he’s got a good chance of getting his fake ID past the bartender; the damn thing’s been expensive enough. 

The bar is even more crowded than the rest of the club, people pushing and yelling and snapping their fingers; he has to shoulder his way to the barkeeper. Once there, the ID earns a raised eyebrow from her, but she shrugs and takes his order anyway. A few moments later, he’s back on the dancefloor with his drink in hand. He takes a few sips, lets his eyes roam. There are a few girls around that catch his attention: a skinny red-head to his left dancing with her eyes closed, and a curvy blonde that is chatting with two friends closer to the bar. 

He decides to go for option number two. Another gulp and his drink’s gone; it's the perfect excuse to go back to the bar. Jackson orders a refill, leans on the bar as he waits for it to keep an eye on the blonde -- and that’s when he sees _her_. 

A little off the dance floor, closer to the exit and the restrooms, is Lydia. She’s with Allison, who seems to be without her pathetic puppy of a boyfriend for the night; he’s nowhere to be seen. 

Allison spots him first. She smiles at him, but then her eyes flicker to Lydia, probably unsure if she’d get pissed at her for waving Jackson over. 

Jackson can’t say he gives a shit. He strides over, drink forgotten, with some part if him reveling in the nasty look Lydia throws his way when she spots him. He grins, and she twists away so that he’s left staring at her back. 

Allison shrugs by way of an apology, but Jackson’s actually starting to have fun. He taps Lydia’s shoulder and grins at her when she turns back around. She’s shouting something at him, but he just points at his ears, to indicate that the club is too loud for him to understand. 

The glare she sends him in return makes him shiver. Lydia’s gorgeous when she’s angry, always has been, all defiant pose, pursed full lips, and she has a way of looking down at people even if they’re taller than her. He holds her gaze, quirks his eyebrows, and he knows he’s gotten to her when she pushes past him and Allison and onto the dancefloor. 

He’s sure she knows exactly what she’s doing when she starts to move, too slowly for the song that’s on, languid rolls over her hips, her arms bent above her head. She shows him her back, but ever so often, she looks over, making sure he’s _looking_. 

Jackson doesn’t have any intention of taking this any further, until Allison excuses herself. She’s holding her phone, display alight, and his money’s on Scott when she gestures to the exit and waves. 

That leaves him and Lydia. Alone. Or, okay, not actually alone, considering they’re on a crowded dance floor, but with no one but them who has to know about what happens from here on in. 

He edges his way through the crush of people, moves in closer, enough so that their bodies touch, chest to back. Lydia turns, tries to squirm away when she realizes it’s him, but she doesn’t try to wriggle away when he grabs her hips to keep her in place. They dance like that, for the length of a song or two, until Jackson feels his cock take an interest. He doesn’t try to hide it; to the contrary, he presses in even closer, makes sure she feels it when it fills, grows hard. Like this, he can smell her shampoo -- lavender or something, she bought it at a fair this spring; they went together and had sweet chestnuts later, he remembers that -- and feel her shiver when he lets his hands wander from her hips to her stomach, inch under her shirt, touch skin. 

He leans in, nibbles at her earlobe. “Wanna get out of here, find something more private?” 

Either she’s going to go with it, or twist around to slap his face and make a run for it. He’d be fine with both. 

She stills, feels around until she gets a hand around his neck, drags his head down so he can hear her. “Yeah. Fuck, yes, I want to.” 

They part, and he takes her hand to pull her off the dancefloor, past the restrooms to a secluded hallway. Once he’s satisfied that they’re out of anyone’s sight he backs Lydia against the wall. She goes willingly, lets herself be positioned and throws her head back when he pushes her skirt up, slowly pulling the fabric of her panties to the side. At the first shallow, teasing touch of his fingers to her pussy, she groans; she’s already wet, rolls her hips to urge him to go deeper, get on with it. 

Jackson’s happy to comply. It’s been a little while since they did this, but he finds her clit easily. She rocks against him, tries to direct him, but the more she scrambles the more often he pauses, takes his fingers away, doesn't start up again until she curses. He watches as she sucks in her bottom lip, her breath coming out in pants with her eyes closed in fervor. Eventually, he takes pity on her and goes for it: two fingers, both of them rubbing relentlessly about the little nub, with varying pressure. He knows how she likes it, and it doesn't take long until she comes. She cries out, but he takes the hand he doesn't use to get her off and puts a finger to her lips. "Hey, don't want anyone to hear and come looking, do you?" 

And yeah, she's glaring at him again, but the way her eyes are glazed over, unfocused, pupils blown huge, takes most of the venom out of it. When he takes the finger away and kisses her, she doesn't protest, but by the time he leans back, takes hold of her hand to guide it to his cock -- still trapped in his jeans, and still hard -- Lydia's gathered her wits. She pushes off the wall, bats at his hand, and rights her skirt. 

When he opens his mouth to complain about it, she cocks her head, huffs. "Don't you dare bitch at me." 

"You're gonna leave me hanging like this?" 

She grins. "Breaking up was your idea, _you_ left _me_ hanging first." With that, she turns around and sashays down the hallway.


End file.
